


A Pair of Contradictions

by mockingtheodds



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingtheodds/pseuds/mockingtheodds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan meets his dancestor in the dream bubbles, and can't help but compare him to the ancestor he had admired for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pair of Contradictions

“Disappointment” would be a bit of an understatement.

            And it hurts, because you know exactly what you expected. You had read tales of your ancestor and were no stranger to the skilled marksman and cunning strategist he had been, violet blood coursing through seas of rust as he served the Condescension herself.

            But this guy—this absolute fucking joke—couldn’t be farther from the image of that fearless man who not only punished, but punished with impunity. This complete waste of non-existent space that actually has the gall to waggle his eyebrows at you makes you want to retch, but you don’t, because there’s something about him that hurts more than the sting of disappointment.  

He’s familiar.

And it’s not simply due to the violet in his veins or the shape of his horns. It’s in the way he’s holding himself, the way his smile twitches when you scowl at him. He’s smug and uncertain all at once, and once you realize it you can’t just shut him out, because he’s _you_ , in a way.

Its intimacy is embarrassing.

So you ignore every instinct that’s telling you to turn, to scoff at him and run away. You flinch when he smirks at you, a smooth but ugly gesture that isn’t in the least bit attractive, but your body carries you towards him before your mind has a chance to object. You don’t know what you’re going to say when you reach him; you’ve been dreaming of meeting this man for as long as you’ve known how to swim, but you’re absolutely fucking terrified of being let down any more than you already have, and you’re excited and anxious and worried and you haven’t even _realized_ you’ve been staring at him, haven’t even realized he’s staring back.

The longer the two of you wait, the more your chest aches.

            And when you finally manage to croak out an awkward “uh, hey,” you feel like you might as well punch yourself in the goddamn face for how incredibly stupid you sound. But Cronus doesn’t even blink, and in a show of unusual character he extends his hand towards you. You expect it to be clammy or sweaty or cold but instead it’s dry and just a little warm, the tips of his claws grazing the back of your hand as you greet him.

It’s not nearly as unpleasant as you thought it would be.

            The entire situation is too surreal; it’s as if you’re meeting an alternate of yourself, but everything is distorted and twisted until it’s nearly unrecognizable. You realize you’re swimming in your own thoughts for too long, and you completely miss the fact that Cronus has already greeted you in return, and has been rambling about god knows what for… well, you aren’t sure how long. But you catch something about wizardry and stop him, suddenly curious.

“Well yeah,” he says, clearly surprised you’ve actually taken an interest, “I mean, I don’t believe any of that hogwash now, of course. Turned out to be a lot of overhyped bullshit if ya ask me.” He immediately pauses upon finishing his sentence, and you can tell that he’s worried you’ll disagree with him. His insecurity is actually making you a little bit nauseous. That familiarity bubbles up in your chest again and you press it down, nodding strongly in agreement in the hopes that he might stop looking at you like that.

“No. I mean you’re right, a course. I used to be _way_ too wrapped up in all of that stuff. It was way more trouble than it was worth. Ended up screwing me over royally.” You laugh sardonically at your own pun, then gesture to your presence in the dream bubbles. “Kinda the whole reason I wound up here. Fuckin’ stupid,” you add, suddenly uncomfortable. You hadn’t planned on speaking with this asshole much at all, let alone get into the reasons why you are the way you are, and the stupid-as-all-hell decisions that put you here.

            You speak like that for a while, the two of you. It’s like a game, a twisted up conversation full of mutual insecurities and assuredness you didn’t think could exist in the same space. You’re a pair of contradictions and it pisses you off to no end. But despite the fact that you _know_ you’re every bit as unsure as he is, you still feel the urge to pick at him, to flaunt his insecurities in his face and make him realize them. Fully. You’re sure there’s some hilarious ironic punch line buried somewhere in that fact, but you don’t care enough to search for it.

            Cronus doesn’t take it lying down. He fights back, not hesitating to point out every loose thread in the stories you weave for him. He’s right about most of it, and you figure he knows you’re right about him as well. It’s exhausting. But you don’t really feel ready to leave him just yet. You don’t know why. Part of you thinks it’s that image of your Ancestor, your _real_ ancestor, that keeps the two of you bound like this, squabbling like a pair of idiotic wigglers. Another thinks it’s that sick sense of familiarity—you won’t go so far as to call it _familial_ , because that’s not it, not really. That word makes about as much sense to you as he does.

But when it all comes down to it, you know it’s both.

He’s a goddamn fucking asshole and his very existence eats away at your psyche. He’s an egotistical, delusional moron. He’s arrogant and self-assured and you can’t stand how he looks at you like you’re a fuckin’ piece of meat waiting to be eaten up. And you tell him. Over and over you tell him _do you even understand how fuckin’ annoyin’ you are? You can’t even see your own idiocy, that’s the real problem we’re having here._

But when he taps you on the shoulder and calls you “buddy” or “friend” and tells you how you’re so very much the same, it makes you want to puke all over again.

So you call him an unconscionable jerk, and hope he doesn’t leave just yet.


End file.
